The Final Journey
by Life-Liberty
Summary: Wyatt, a steward of the Night's Watch reluctantly agrees to escort a young wildling woman to King's Landing, with the hope of convincing the Seven Kingdoms of an ancient and powerful force that could consume everyone.
1. Chapter 1

The patrol was a lost cause from the start.

Everyone knew it.

Geoff and Cain wouldn't shut up about it the whole journey.

Wyatt himself was beginning to wonder why he agreed to such a pointless expedition.

And now, even watching old Qhorin Half-Hand ride tireless on through the snow, he probably was beginning to think the same thing as well.

"I think we should turn back," Geoff muttered under his breath. "Stark would never have made it this far."

"What difference does it make what you think?" Cain hissed, clenching his hands tightly for warmth. "I could have just volunteered for extra watch duty instead of this…."

"Shut it you two." Qhorin snapped back to the rangers. He always seemed to have a keen ear when it came to men talking behind his back. "Wyatt, how many leagues have we gone?"

Wyatt's map was crude, but reliable, "Five since passing the last marker, but our pace has slowed since this morning." Wyatt replied, glancing up at the dusk colored sky. Nightfall was quickly approaching, and with it the likely hood of frostbite.

Geoff's mood was to growing sour. "If you could keep pace instead of riding like a pregnant sow, we would be leagues closer to the end of this bloody patrol!"

"We have a better chance of finding Stark then that happening," Cain pitched in with his annoying grin; the pair of them had been like this from the start of their journey. They always were quick to point out Wyatt's physical shortcomings, no doubt a way to take their frustrations out on the lone steward. Wyatt had grown used to it back at Castle Black, but out in the cold even his patience was nearing its limit.

Wyatt brushed it aside, focusing on his job, scanning at the vast, pale horizon "If he had gone this way, he would have left another marking."

Qhorin shook his head, unpersuaded. "This isn't like him. Any ranger worth his salt wouldn't just leave his trail unless he had a damn good-

The loud shriek of ravens shattered the silence, sending a chill down Wyatt's spine much differently from the cold. No doubt the scavengers had found a prize, cheering over the frozen carcass of something or someone. Such bird in this land accompanied the dead or dying, and nothing in this hell could survive for long.

Their foul cries signaled the worst for most that lose their way.

The Half-Hand dismounted and drew his sword without making a sound. "Cain, stay with Wyatt and the horses," Qhorin ordered as he began to carefully make his way through the snow towards the ravens. "Geoff, with me."

Geoff shook his head but reluctantly drew his sword and followed behind. "It's probably nothing but a dead animal…"

"Oi, why am I stuck playing the wet nurse?" Cain quipped, looking over at the steward with a mocking grin. Wyatt was too tired and cold to bother with an argument right now, and didn't want give Cain the satisfaction of getting under his skin.

The two rangers started down the snowy drift to investigate the noise, leaving Wyatt to guard the trail with Cain. Despite their long journey, no evidence except the trail markers left by Benjen Stark had been found since leaving Castle Black. Wyatt had heard that first ranger Stark had gone missing, and many hoped he would one day be seen, marching back from a near death encounter that he somehow survived due to his expertise and resourcefulness. But as the days and nights passed, many brothers slowly gave up that fantasy, only to now assume the worst.

That's when the Lord Commander began to send out these expeditions, hoping to find a faint trail to Stark's whereabouts, or just evidence of what could have happened to him. Men sent on such patrols never found much more than just the markers left on trees to find their way back to the safety of the wall. It was as if Benjen Stark had simply decided to vanish from existence, lost to the vast wilderness of the north.

"You think he's still alive?" Cain asked, rubbing his hands for warmth

Wyatt shrugged, "If he is, he's likely a prisoner. Or worse a turncoat. Both are equally likely in my opinion."

Now it was Cain's turn to be annoyed. "Of course _you_ would say that. Stark lived for the night's watch, and is a man who gave up his nobility for his duty."

"Mance Rayder also lived for the watch. Now he is the self-proclaimed king-beyond-the-wall."

"Careful Wyatt…"

Wyatt just shook his head. Cain already silently loathed him, along with the rest of the rangers in the watch. So perhaps Stark wasn't a turncoat. Perhaps he was still alive living off the land, trying desperately to get back to his fellow rangers. Perhaps he was frozen stiff in some dark forest, dead. Or perhaps he had sailed across the Narrow Sea, becoming a raider and living the adventurous life he had secretly wanted to for years.

The point was, no one knew. So what difference did it make what he thought?

Despite his personal feelings, it was still best in his best interest to save face and apologize. "Look Cain, I meant nothing-

Cain held up his hand, silencing him, "Shut up," he hissed, scanning the woods. "You hear that?"

Wyatt glanced around. "No, I-

An arrow flew between the two, nearly missing Wyatt's head, the wind of the deadly projectile snapping him into a sudden rush of adrenaline. Instinctively, he drew his sword from his belt, and turned to face where ambush had come from.

He barely had time to yell before a mountain of muscle and fur was charging at them. A man, no a beast of a man nearly twice his size was running towards them, a crude axe held above his massive head. The wilding easily covered the distance, and his axe was soon swinging towards the two.

Wyatt dove away, hearing the axe slam in to the frozen ground with enough force to feel his body shake. He rolled through the snow to give himself distance, but already he was silently panicking at the colossal foe he was facing.

Cain had drawn his sword as well, and now bravely charged the wilding easily twice his size. "For the watch!" He cried, swing his steel at their attacker. The wilding flung his axe, easily swatting Cain's sword aside. The two began a tense duel, with Cain ducking and diving, while the giant wilding flung his axe aggressively, with massive swings that seemed to be able to fell trees with a single swoop. Cain was easily unmatched, like a child trying to desperately fight a grown adult.

Wyatt clenched his sword hilt, anger and fear overwhelming him all in one sickening feeling. " _Come on Wyatt you craven. For once, do something out of character for a change!"_

Cain seemed to be holding his own by dodging the Wilding giant's powerful swings. However, another arrow from the woods hit found it's target in Cain's leg, causing the ranger to yell out in pain and collapse to the ground.

The giant now raised his axe, preparing to deliver the killing blow.

Without thinking, Wyatt charged, yelling and raising his sword without regard for his own safety. By some miracle, his sword found the target, stabbing itself into the wilding's thigh. The giant let out a roar of pain, and for a second Wyatt thought he might be able to deliver the killing blow.

Before he could continue his attack, a fur covered fist slammed into Wyatt's head, sending the small steward flailing into the snow. The force inflicted so much pain it nearly caused him to black out, but somehow he managed to keep his wits.

Now the giant turned his attention to Wyatt. The wilding brought the axe over his massive head, the crude weapon now aimed over Wyatt's neck. Everything seemed to slow down, and he began to slowly realize that this was his end. He was going to die here in this forsaken, frozen hell. No one would remember his name. No one would weep for his passing, and no one would tell stories of his memory.

Despite these thoughts, he felt the hilt of his sword, and was surprised he had managed to keep it despite the blow to his head. He raised the point as far as he could in front of him and closed his eyes, expecting a painful demise.

He waited for the axe to fall, but he felt nothing. Instead, a heavy weight had landed itself on his chest, knocking the wind out of him, but no pain. He opened his eyes, seeing a man's face with a thick beard pressed against his shoulder. The man's eyes were motionless and devoid of life, as if they were frozen like a statue.

The wildling lay dead atop of Wyatt, a sword piercing straight through his chest. Wyatt let out a sharp breath, the excitement of battle still flowing through him. By some fools luck, he had managed to kill the man by getting him to fall on his sword.

Wyatt struggled to free himself from the corpse, and looked around for his fellow brother. "Cain! Help, I can't-

And that's when he saw him. An arrow through the chest, and a crimson cut across the throat. Wyatt had forgotten about the archer. Cain lay frozen on the ground, and a slender figure was calmly walking towards him through the snow.

The second wildling stood above him, his blade covered in blood. He wore a fur hood, but Wyatt could make out his facial features. Unlike his friend, he was slender and small. The bones of his face were precisely defined, with no trace of stubble like a young man's. However his eyes were cold and devoid of any mercy.

Wyatt struggled to free his sword, but the weight of the dead body easily stopped him. Wordlessly, the wildling gently placed the blade on the young steward's neck. He could still feel the warm blood on its edge.

Suddenly, a black figure dove into the wildling, tackling him to the ground with enough force to knock the blade away. A struggle began in the snow nearby, with Wyatt quickly recognized the face of Qhorin Half-Hand. The old ranger easily overwhelmed his opponent with such strength and speed it was remarkable someone of his age could muster.

Geoff had soon appeared as well, and the two now easily subdued the wildling. "Hand me the rope, bind the hands!" Qhorin ordered. Geoff shoved the wildling's face into the snow as they restrained their attacker.

Wyatt let out a breath he hadn't realize he had been holding. Now he had dodged death twice in as many minutes. _"This will is the last time I volunteer for these patrols, the Watch be damned…"_

"Stop kicking, or will bind those too!" Geoff barked, gripping the prisoner tightly by the back of the neck.

Qhorin placed his knee into the wildling's back. "Go help Wyatt, I'll handle this."

Geoff reluctantly released his grip and went over to move the massive corpse. He knelt down and pushed with all his strength to free the trapped steward.

"Funny you'd survive, craven."" He hissed, finally pushing the last amount of weight off.

Wyatt glared and struggled to his feet. "I didn't flee, I was-"

"Enough!" Qhorin barked, glaring at the two. "We still have this to deal with." He grabbed their prisoner and brought him to his feet.

"Gladly," Geoff said, drawing his sword. "Slit his throat, let him die just like Cain!"

Getting a better look know, Wyatt suddenly realized that their prisoner wasn't who he seemed. Or rather, _she_ wasn't what she seemed.

"A woman," Wyatt said, now seeing her dark hair underneath her hood. Despite all the fur she was wearing for warmth, she easily had a feminine figure. She had a mysterious beauty to him, but her expression was still cold and distant. Her eyes were silently staring downwards at the man Wyatt had somehow managed to kill.

But her features weren't what Wyatt noticed most about her. On her wrist was a silver chain bracelet, masterfully crafted, and adorned with a wolf's head

Qhorin had noticed the bracelet too, and examined it for a closer look. "A direwolf…"

Wyatt realized the importance. "The sigil of house Stark."

Qhorin gripped the woman's wrist, shaking it. "This. Where did you get _this_."

The young woman defiantly stood silent, ignoring the question and holding her stare at the body of the other wildling.

"She's a wildling and a killer all the same," Geoff snarled, pointing his sword. "Quit wasting time and just end her."

"And kill our best chance at finding Stark?"

Geoff shook his head. "What chance? She doesn't know where Stark is!"

Wyatt found himself agreeing with Geoff. "He's right. At best, she just stumbled upon an old camp and must have found it left behind. Besides, we can't afford to keep prisoners with this journey. Keeping her alive will just endanger us all."

"You two are both fools, and this isn't your choice," Qhorin snapped, taking the bracelet off the woman's wrist. "Geoff, go get the kid. We'll take them both back to the wall."

Geoff shook his head in disgust. "Sod that!"

"Do it! Or I'll punish you for refusing my command! Don't worry though, losing a finger or two won't stop you from performing your duties, trust me."

Reluctantly, Geoff obeyed and sheathed his sword. He set off back down the hill, muttering curses under his breath.

"Child?" Wyatt asked, "Wait, what child?"

"That noise we heard was the ravens, scavenging from the dead." Qhorin explained. "There was a camp we found abandoned, with nearly a dozen dead save for one: A young girl."

Suddenly, the prisoner spoke up. "Please, don't leave her." The young woman surprised them both when she suddenly spoke, surprising Wyatt that she knew common tongue. "Kill me, but don't leave her."

"Oh, is that so?" Qhorin said, carefully studying her now worried expression. "Well, that completely depends on you and your truthfulness. Wyatt, get the horses and bind her on Cain's mount. The Lord Commander will want to speak to her."


	2. Chapter 2

Though it was pitch black, Qhorin was adamant with riding on through the night. Despite the fatigue and cold, Wyatt and Geoff agreed. Anything if it meant getting out of the haunted forest sooner.

Their return journey back to the Wall was much quicker than when they had set out, even with their newly acquired prisoners. As they rode, the trees of the vast wilderness seemed like a maze with no end. But despite his lack of mastery with a sword, Wyatt had mastery over another equally crucial skill: navigation.

Back at Castle Black, he had spent many nights in the library poured over books and documents written by previous stewards and historians. He enjoyed the quiet and solitary work, countless long nights of studying the maps and trails under the soft glow of candlelight, all gathered by the Night's Watch over many generations. He had committed most of the north to memory, along with most of the landmarks and trails that the rangers greatly relied upon. This simple hobby of his soon had caught the attention of older veterans of the Watch, and it was what unfortunately ended up with him volunteered for most patrols, even if he held the title of a simple steward.

Despite a desperate need for sleep, his task with plotting a course combined with the bitter cold kept him awake and focused through the ride. Not to mention that the Haunted Forest was the last place he wanted to rest.

Their pace quickened even further as they continued on. Qhorin rode in saddle with the young child he had found in the woods. The young woman rode beside, wrists tightly bound to Cain's mount and gaged personally at the request of Geoff.

Geoff himself rode behind her, an arrow notched in his bowstring, eagerly ready to fire at her if the need arose.

But if there was any plan of an escape, she never acted on it. At the first sign of dawn, the woods finally ended, and a colossal fortification covered in ice dominated the horizon. A barrier dividing the land, the Wall stood defiant as it had for nearly eight millennia.

It always seemed daunting no matter how many times one looked at it. Wyatt glanced over at the child, her tiny face staring up in silent awe and amazement. It was a common reaction to anyone who first witnessed the Wall, one he must of had himself when he first arrived at Castle Black as a boy years ago.

Before they entered through the ice tunnel, Qhorin had leather hoods placed over the prisoners faces, masking their identity to others. A wise choice, considering the questionable history and bloodlust some of men of the Watch possessed.

"And so the Half-Hand returns!" The older sentry greeted as the entered the gate, "Looks like two more for the headsman!" His morbid cheerfulness was slightly unnerving.

"And one for the pyre..." His younger partner added, noticing Cain's corpse. "Rest well and be at peace."

" _For so his watch has ended…"_ Wyatt thought quietly to himself, reciting the words said at the passing of any member of the Watch.

If only they knew easily he could have been the one for the pyre instead.

* * *

The yard at Castle Black was quiet when they arrived, save for a few guards beginning their early morning rounds. They dismounted, bringing the horses to stable along with their new prisoners.

"Geoff, take the body and notify Maester Aemon to prepare a funeral," Qhorin said, helping the young girl from his mount. "Wyatt, tend the horses and have a summary written by the morrow."

"And what about them?" Geoff looked over at the wildlings. "Hot meal for the cutthroats? Or maybe a warm bed?" he asked, using as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Qhorin was neither unimpressed nor intimidated. "They'll be placed in the cells, and that's all you need to know. I would advise you to keep that tongue of yours hidden, incase you might lose it, boy."

Geoff just shook his head in disapproval, obviously preferring execution over any imprisonment. No doubt the loss of a fellow ranger was still on his mind. However, the decision had already been made, and despite his personal opinion, he reluctantly followed his orders, carrying Cain's body away.

Wyatt simply nodded in acknowledgment of his own orders, and watched as the old ranger escorted both of the masked wildlings to the dark dungeons of Castle Black.

Lack of sleep was now beginning to catch up to him, and with no other immediate duties, he wanted nothing more than to retire to his bed and sleep off the exhaustion and soreness of the long ride.

Even so, his mind still couldn't erase the image of that woman's cold yet beautiful eyes, and the blade she held over his neck. Eventually however, she too would become just another memory, another person he would never see again.

* * *

 _In the year 298 AC, so ends the account of the patrol from Castle Black, led by the ranger Qhorin, along with the rangers Cain and Geoff, and with the assistance from the steward Wyatt._

Wyatt put down his quill and ended his summary, satisfied with the words on parchment. The ambush, Cain's death, and the discovery of Stark's pendent were all written on record. Putting all the events of the last days on paper was harder than imagined; even when it came to the near death encounter he had somehow survived. Sleeping all day may have refreshed his body, but still made his memory hazy.

Nevertheless, his account was accurate and finished it in the nick of time. He waited patiently for the ink to dry before heading down and handing it off to Qhorin at his request. The old ranger simply skimmed the words before quietly nodding and heading off to other business. To Wyatt, this was the end of the entire ordeal, the last effort he had to manage before he would, in time, be tasked with yet another duty for the Watch.

But even though his work was complete, the ordeal was far from over.

He first noticed it during supper. Mostly, Wyatt sat alone, close to the other stewards but still by himself during his meager meal of soup and salted meat. He casually listened to Dolorous Edd sarcastically comment on conversations by other brothers nearby, tales told from the odd rumor or some famous song sung long ago. Wyatt in truth, secretly enjoyed the tales of famous heroes and battles against evil, but he never showed it. He knew that they were in the end, just stories. It was merely a simple fantasy told by wet nurses to entertain small children before bed.

But tonight, his attention was on something else entirely. Across the hall, rangers shot the occasional glance towards his table, never staring more then a few seconds before returning to their bowls. Wyatt was aware that he didn't possess many remarkable skills, but his ability to read people was unrivaled. Without words, he could tell that across the hall, a devious plot was beginning to take shape.

It was all too easy to tell. Normally, no one gave Wyatt a passing glance, even if they knew him. Tonight however, he was the single target of rangers who now saw an easy target for their stress. And in the middle of them all, was none other than Geoff himself.

No doubt the news of Cain's death had spread around his fellow brothers of the Watch, no thanks to the great storyteller Geoff. Whatever story he spun, it had already been accepted as truth by the rangers, no matter how false or twisted that tale may had been.

These men were already dangerous on their own, but when given a chance to take out their anger on something or someone, it was only then you could see their true potential for violence.

These thoughts were enough for Wyatt to lose any appetite he might have had. _"Time for a strategic retreat…"_ And with that, he left for the safety of his quarters.

The following morning, a small funeral service was held for Cain in the training yard.

Nearly the entire garrison was in attendance, including the Lord Commander himself. Mormont stood stoically over the roaring flames of the pyre as the fire consumed the dead ranger.

Maester Aemon, although elderly and blind, delivered the eulogy. "And so we remember our duty, a duty we swore to defend our realm as brothers. For we fight as brothers, and in battle die along each other like brothers. We commit his sacrifice to history, so that others will remember and so future generations will know that this ranger fulfilled his oath to the Watch. He was raised as a simple peasant, a farmer's son by birth. But now he will be remember as a defender, even though his life has faded. He was Cain, a ranger of the Night's Watch. And now his watch has ended."

"And so his watch has ended..." The crowd of men chanted, bowing their heads in respect.

Wyatt watched from a rampart window above. It was at times like this it was best for him to remain conveniently absent and out of sight. He had no trouble doing this, and it fit his hermit mentality perfectly. No one knew what truly happened that night in the woods, but as long as the sacrifice was recognized, it was good enough for him.

He continued his mundane duties through the day and for a while, he thought things would return back to normal. It was until later that day his previous fears were confirmed.

In a vacant corridor, two men wearing black waited for him. They blocked his path, standing idly as if they had were patiently expecting him. Wyatt stopped, and stared at his brothers. The wooden door behind him shut quietly, and three more rangers entered the hallway.

Wyatt easily recognized Geoff face among the gang. "So, I guess had this coming then?"

"You should have died that night," Geoff said as he walked down the hall. "You craven. Your death would matter to no one. No one would have mourned your passing."

Despite his anger filled words, Wyatt knew deep down that he was right. No one would care if he had been killed that night. There would have been a funeral for certain, but it would be done out of ceremony, not genuine sorrow.

"So what then? You kill me?" Wyatt asked with a sly grin. Now his mouth was getting him into more trouble then he needed.

Geoff shook his head. "You're not worth the effort. But everyone still needs to be reminded what happens to cowards."

In the wild, many animals will naturally form packs. Carnivores form hierarchies with their packs, and the leader relies on each the group for his strength. Alone, they are harmless, but in a group their ability to attack and kill is unmatched. In packs, they easily overwhelm the weak, and enjoy the comradery of working for the kill.

Two of the rangers behind him grabbed his arms, holding him in place. At the same time, Geoff pulled his arm back and delivered a fist across the face. The pain exploded in a fury, nearly causing Wyatt to black out, but he still somehow kept his bearing.

They threw him to the stone floor, and together they began to furiously punch and kick, spitting and cursing like an angry crowd. Wyatt curled himself into a tight ball, keeping the hope that any second they would be satisfied, and their lust for vengeance for their fallen brother would be fulfilled.

But it didn't stop. The beating continued, and it only grew more violent. The pain was beginning to become unbearable to the point that it was overwhelming. His vision began to grow darker, and the boots kicking him over and over began to seem hazier as if he was slowly fading in and out of a dream.

He was about to finally give in and let unconsciousness take him, but a voice very different from the rest stopped the curses and pain.

"W-W-What is going on here?! What are you doing?!"

Wyatt managed to look and see two thick legs standing down the hallway, plump as an old sow. The portly figure stood in the doorway, a plump face was filled with equal parts shock and terror.

"Stay out of this. This isn't your business piggy." One of the rangers snarled.

"Or do ya care to join him?" Geoff added, "I would enjoy kicking the shit out of your fat hide Tarly."

Wyatt could barely make out the silhouette of another hunched nearby, this one was seemed like a skeleton by comparison, like an old, dying tree in the dead of winter.

A soft yet confident voice answered him. "Threats against brothers? I'm surprised to hear you say that, especially to just asimple old man."

Wyatt easily recognized the voice, and it seemed the rest of his attackers did as well. "Maester Aemon, I-" Geoff managed, clearly caught off guard.

"You were saying?"

Geoff took one look at his victim, satisfied at his work. "We were just leaving Maester Aemon. Excuse us." And with that, the rangers retreated from sight, vanishing as quickly as they appeared.

"Wyatt, is that you?" Samwell Tarly asked, rushing to help him after it was clear Geoff and the others had left. "What happened? What was that about?"

The pain in his ribs stung with every small movement, and his nose trickled blood down his chin, but he was still in one piece. "It was nothing. Just a stupid disagreement over something." He said, nursing his now tender cheek.

The portly steward wasn't convinced. "They were beating you. Kicking you, seven hells if we hadn't shown up when we did-"

"Sam, it was nothing. Please, just leave it be."

"Are you sure? You need to report them to the captain. If this continues, you could end up worse than just a few bruises Wyatt."

Wyatt shook his head. "It won't continue after this, they got what they wanted."

"Which was what?"

"Like I said, it was just a disagreement."

Maester Aemon slowly approached, keeping a bony hand on the stone wall for support. "Wyatt, its good we found you when we did. It seems your presence has been requested by Commander Mormont himself."

Now Wyatt was wondering if he truly was dreaming. "The Lord Commander? For me? Why?"

"He didn't say. Though if he specifically asked for someone by name, I assure you it is important."

"I'll head there at one." Wyatt said with a slight wince. It still hurt to even walk, but he should consider himself lucky that his legs still allowed him that luxury.

"Important, but not urgent." The Maester said, shaking his head. "Tarly, help him to my tower. We'll see to your injuries before anything else."

"Here," Sam said, placing Wyatt's arm around his neck. All the while, his pain was now in the back of his mind, and the Lord Commander's request the only thought worth putting any effort towards.

* * *

He didn't regret Maester Aemon decision to treat his bruises and cuts. The elderly man had requested his assistant to prepare a pot of water to be warmed as well as a bath to help heal and sooth Wyatt's injuries. The past two days had taken such a toll on him that stepping into the steaming water felt like being in a pleasant, wonderful dream.

He wished he could remain in this water forever, but the fact of Lord Mormont's request still in the back of his mind prevented him from truly relaxing. All the years in his service to the Watch, and not once had the Old Bear requested his presence, let alone address him by name. Suddenly this now out of nowhere was enough to make him wonder.

The bath was like a different world, and one he regretted leaving. He washed the dirt and sweat from his messy hair in the nearby basin, and stared at back his reflection the crude mirror.

Despite his young age, his thick brown hair was beginning to lose color in some place, with stray grey streaks slowly becoming more visible. Eyes that were both parts grey stared back with a deadpan expression, as if they were silently scowling at whoever they saw. Everyone said his expression always seemed to be one equal parts annoyed and bored, which probably drove most people away from talking to him. Of course, his natural loner personality didn't help much either.

His face looked weathered from the cold, but still young. He knew he was never the idea of a girl's dream, but tireless service on the wall had made him more attractive over the years. Even so, he could still recall the faint memory of his youth, where he would play by the sea, staring at the reflection in the crystal water. Now it seemed a stranger from another life was staring back at him.

It was safe to say if someone wrote a story, Wyatt would never be the main character of such a tale.

Someone like him was too plain looking and average to stand out as a legendary hero.

After redressing, he thanked the old Maester and Sam for their service before setting off for the Lord Commander's tower. It had to be about the last patrol, there was no other reason he could think of. But what or why anyone wanted specifically to meet with him was still a mystery.

He knocked at the large oak doors once he climbed the final steps. "Enter." A voice commanded, one Wyatt knew as Mormont himself. He carefully pushed the doors open, and entered the quarters.

The Lord Commander was seated at his study, a old man with a face that was aged and old, yet strong and resilient. His white beard and furrow brow was a testament to his name: the old man was built like an old bear, no doubt years of service to the wall attributed to this.

"So, this is the steward," Mormont said, studying the new arrival. "Snow, fetch a bottle of wine and some food."

Mormont's assistant was a dark haired boy, with a face recognizable by many in the watch. Jon Snow, or mockingly called 'Lord Snow' was a bastard born from the Starks, and had lived with them before taking the black. Now he was just a steward, Mormont's personal assistant.

Seemed like a waste of talent, but he could care less who the Lord Commander choose to clean his sheets or bring his food.

"My lord," Wyatt greeted, bowing his head in courtesy but still not knowing what to expect. "You wished to see me?"

"I did, as well as Qhorin about the same matter," The Old Bear nodded back to the door. Wyatt looked to see the Half-Hand leaning in the door, and with him another in tow.

"I brought her, just as you requested." Qhorin said, bringing into view a familiar face.

A face Wyatt personally wished he never wished to see.

It was none other than 'her'. The wildling woman, still bound at the wrists and wearing the same furs she had that night in the woods. Qhorin pushed her into Mormont's study next to Wyatt.

The sight of her again unnerved him. He still couldn't believe his own eyes. _"Her again? What purpose is she doing here and not locked away? What am I even doing here?"_

Unfortunately for him, he didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"This is Seva, and by the end of this meeting, she will be your prisoner and sole responsibility," Mormont announced, clearly addressing only Wyatt and no one else.

"And you will bring her to the Iron Throne."


	3. Chapter 3

If there was a moment someone's life when they needed to believe they were dreaming, this was one of them.

"Did you hear me boy?" Mormont asked again. He was probably staring at the blank expression cast across the steward's face. "Do I need to repeat myself again?"

Wyatt tried to form the right words, but just blurted out his thoughts. "The Iron Throne. I'm to travel Kings Landing there. With this 'woman'."

"So you do have ears. Perhaps it would be wise to keep using them as I talk." The Old Bear reached to his cloak, pulling out a familiar silver bracelet. "Does this look familiar? It should, because it's the reason that this woman still has a head on her shoulders."

Wyatt nodded, "Stark's pendent. I'm familiar with it."

"Then you should be familiar that this is the only thing we've found of Benjen Stark since he disappeared. I've sent some of my best men on countless expeditions, only to find nothing but empty wilderness. I was about to give up, even though I would still believe he's out there. But now you've brought me this," He held up the silver direwolf head. "And now this wildling spearwife is claiming not only she find this, but it was given to her Benjen Stark herself."

This tale was getting more and more farfetched by the minute. Even if it was out of his character, he had to speak his mind. He had to persuade the Old Bear for his sake. His daily routine, the normal life of a steward, his relative safety, it was now all at risk.

He wasn't going south, not even if commanded by the Lord Commander himself, orders be damned.

He mustered some small confidence and began. "My lord, this is nothing but a desperate lie. She'll spin anything story if it means to keep her head. Besides, what would even possess Stark to give something of his to a wildling, much less cause him to spare her life? It doesn't make any sense. "

Mormont nodded in agreement to his surprise. Perhaps this would be easier than he thought. "It doesn't. But that was before I heard her story. He turned his tired gaze to the wildling sitting in the chair.

Seva closed her eyes and nodded, reciting the tale. "I met him when returning from a hunt. A snow storm had appeared without warning, and I was having trouble finding my way back to my village. The fire I saw was faint, but I could see a figure, alone in the woods around a small dying fire. He looked almost to be sleeping, and he clutched his arm, with blood frozen on his black cloak." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I had planned to kill him, but attacking a dying man invites bad omens, no matter whom or what they are."

The Half-Hand was less than convinced. "If we're relyin on this superstitious prattle, she might as well say the gods themselves carried Stark to safety. "

The wilding was brave enough to shoot the ranger a glare, undeterred. "You can mock us, be we honor our traditions and beliefs. I tended to his wounds, and in return, he gave me that in return." She nodded at the silver pendent. "We both went our separate ways, and that was the last I saw of him."

Now Jon Snow, normally silent, spoke up."Did he say where? Anything he might have mentioned?" Jon now seemed the most eager one in the room, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and anxiousness. Perhaps the answer he wanted to hear was what he hoped for, what many at Castle Black wanted to hear. Or maybe he just wanted to hear the truth, and confirmation of what everyone secretly feared deep down.

Instead, he received neither. "No, he did not say," She simply shook her head. "He walked off into the wilderness the next morning, not a word was speaking about his plans."

Jon seemed disappointed, yet not surprised by her answer. "I see then…"

"It changes little," Qhorin said, still much unconvinced of the young woman's account. "If that were the case, we're still no closer to finding Benjen, and her life is of little value."

His disagreement gave Wyatt more courage to speak his mind. "That's right my lord, this is nothing more than a lie to avoid the headsman's axe. She'll say anything to avoid death."

A cold yet calm voice answered him, unimpressed. "You shouldn't speak of things you know little about _crow_. That dull mind and stupid expression of yours won't convince anyone of the obvious truth."

She was staring at him now, blue eyes focused solely on him and him alone. She had a bitter stare cold as winter that could see through his desperate scheme. Her gaze alone felt like he was staring through his black cloak and into his mind.

She continued her verbal assault with no mercy. "You think I killed your precious Stark friend? You say I have no proof but where is yours? You think I would tell a lie just because it suits you and your selfish interests? Don't make me laugh. You might fear death, but everyone will die in the end, and I have no use for convenient lies to avoid that fate. I speak the truth, and you would be wise to believe it."

Her words seemed to send the room in an uneasy silence. For a moment, even the Old Bear didn't have a response. It was only until the Half-Hand grabbed a handful of her dark hair and regained order.

"If you speak another word without permission again, you see the headman's axe before nightfall." His words seemed to be even colder than hers.

Mormont slammed a hand on his desk, demanding attention. "Enough!" His voice demanded order. "This is not what this meeting is about. Jon, take her back to her cell. I wish to speak alone."

Jon Snow nodded, and obediently helped the Half-Hand escort the out of the room, leaving Wyatt alone with the one man who would decide his future, and possibly his fate.

The lord commanded sighed, and drank a from his personal flask. "Apologies. This is not what I had intended to happen."

"I still don't understand my lord." Wyatt said, trying to hide the desperation in his voice. "Why keep her alive, let alone take her King's Landing? Why me? Surely there is someone else that can take her."

He shook his head. "It is a great task I ask of you, and one I don't ask lightly. Yoren and the other recruiters have not returned from the south, and I fear the worst. I've sent Alistair Thorne south, but I still fear his message won't reach the crown due to the war. Even If it does, there is still the possibility that his words won't be taken seriously."

"With all respect my lord, why will this be every different?" Wyatt knew he was losing this battle. Any doubt Mormont had was slowly disappearing, and with it his chance of avoiding going south. If he wanted to keep any chance of normal life, he had to sway him to reason, or else face a long dangerous journey.

But the Lord Commander's mind had already been made up before he even had a chance. "There are greater forces at work than just kings fighting for titles. An ancient power is dwelling in the north, and we will be helpless against it should it choose to rise against us. You are a competent brother of the Night's Watch, but you lack purpose. This is your chance to show your purpose."

" _Purpose? I could care less."_ Those thoughts were what he what he wanted to say, but he didn't have the courage. He was losing this battle, and if he didn't take drastic measures, he'd find himself with a long dangerous journey with an equally dangerous companion traveling with him along the way.

It was now or never. It was time to grovel and beg, no matter how pitiful it looked.

He bent the knee. "My lord, I lack the constitution and will to complete this task. Send someone else who is better equipped to handle this." Thse words hurt his pride, whatever was left of it. It was a small price to pay if it meant staying on the wall.

But Mormont had made up his mind long before. "Despite what you think, you are the one made for this journey, and I will not choose anyone else. You will go forth to the throne, or to the headsman's axe for treason Wyatt. This is the reality that is before you. Now choose."  
_

He was still hoping he would wake up from this horrible dream.

No this wasn't just a dream anymore. This was a true nightmare for him now. There was no doubt about that. And he wasn't going to wake up from it anytime soon.

It was midday when he had finished gathering all of his belongings from his humble quarters. Traveling supplies he could find, extra parchment and quills, maps and other items that would be needed for the long journey. A journey that still didn't feel real to him, but was a reality to him none the less else.

He thought about the alternatives, but they weren't any better. " _It's either this or certain death for betrayal. At least this will give me a fighting chance before certain death."_

It didn't matter what he thought at this point. The Lord Commander had made his decision, and it was absolute. He would be going south, through a land filled with war and killings with a brutality and violence that had no comparison. His fear was justified, so why didn't he feel more inclined to fight his current predicament?

Maybe it was a sense of duty to the Night's Watch, an oath he sworn long ago that he felt obligated to keep. No, that wasn't it. He cared little for words and promises uttered in the sake of honor, even for the watch. This was something personal to him, even if he didn't want to admit it.

Deep down, this task given to him was exactly as Mormont had said. A chance to prove his purpose to the Night's Watch, and a chance to make a real difference for his brothers.

Wyatt just hoped that that difference wouldn't cost him his life.

Gathering his belongings took shorter than anticipated, so he paid the rookery a final visit before leaving.

Samwell had already left for supper at the hall, and Aemon took his meals in his quarters, leaving him alone to say his goodbyes.

Wyatt gave a small knock on the oak door. "Maester Aemon, do you have a moment?"

The blind Maester bent his head up. "Wyatt, I expected you. I assume you are leaving Castle Black tonight?"

"Yes, that's the truth," Wyatt said with a nod. "I'll depart for Moletown and continue south."

"I see," Aemon said, nodding in response. "And are you prepared for the journey?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then let me offer you this advice," Aemon spoke carefully, leaning in to emphasize the importance of his message. "You would be wise to trust no one, especially in a place like King's Landing. Liars and the dishonest thrive there, and will take no thought to betraying one they claim as a friend. You should be wary of everyone and anyone regardless of their friendliness.

The elderly Maester raised a boney, pale finger. "Above all else, trust only yourself, and assume the worst of others. It maybe cold and bitter logic, but it will keep you alive above all else. Remember this well, and it will keep you alive."

It was words he could easily relate to, and obey. "I promise I won't fail you. Fore my own sake, and for the watch."

Maester Aemon gave a weak yet proud smile. "I know Wyatt. I know."

In the early morning dawn, Wyatt visited Doyal Noye at the smithy for a new weapon. "Is it durable?"

Doyal Noye scoffed at the remark. "Durable? This is steel forged in the cold of the north. It will be durable as long as it is north of the wall, mark my words that this steel will do any job needed boy."

Wyatt held his new sword, testing the grip. It was light, yet sturdy, and still wieldable to deliver swift strikes against an opponent. Yet the blade was plain, not remarkable in design or craft. It was a sword, simple as that.

Doyal Noye nodded in agreement, "Where you re going, it would be wise to use it only when necessary, given your talent."

The sun was still rising when they departed from Castle Black.

She was still bound and gaged as they loaded her into the back of the wagon. Seva seemed mute and unresponsive to the situation she was in. Wyatt was at least aware of the journey ahead, and the amount of effort it would take to get to Kings Landing. At least the patrols north of the wall were short and predictable. This was the opposite, and the length of the journey was anything but predictable.

They sat across each other, staring and studying one another like a scholar studies a book. Wyatt could only remember the eyes that stared him down that night in the haunted woods, right before his supposed death. If this was what awaited him during their journey, it would be long indeed.

They arrived at Moletown in the afternoon, the sun beginning to set. The night brother who rode in the carriage gave Wyatt a pouch of gold dragons before turning north.

"This is all you get, scribe," He said, handing over the pouch. "What you do next is up to you."

And with that, the brother of the watch whipped his horses, and headed back to the wall, leaving Wyatt with a women how no doubt wanted only his death as soon as possible.

There were no rooms in the inn, yet the stables had open hay stacks available for purchase.

Wyatt paid the innkeepers for the 'rooms', as well as food for himself and Seva for the night. She accepted but still remained silent no doubt due to the gags across her mouth.

She couldn't eat with them, so he removed them, but kept the binds across her wrists. "There, eat and get some sleep. We leave before dawn."

She accepted his order without remark, and wordlessly ate her stew. "Are you the only one that is coming with me."

Wyatt nodded. "Do you see anyone else?"

She continued to eat. "No, I just wanted to know who I would be traveling with. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"What do you mean, 'what I want?"

"I mean, is this what you truly want? Escorting a prisoner south, one that want nothing more then to kill you."

If this was her way of intimidating, he easily noticed it. "It doesn't matter what I want." Wyatt replied, "This is my duty for the watch, nothing more than that."

"Do you even know why I want to kill you, crow?"

"Because I'am a crow, of course."

She shook her head. "You think it's that simple, don't you? I don't want to kill you because you are a crow, fool. I want to kill you because you took my happiness away from me."

Wyatt raised an eyebrow. " I doubt I did that."

"Oh but you did." Seva said with a cold stare. "That man you killed that night. Do you even know who he was?"

Wyatt just shook his head. "Of course not."

"Of course not," Seva repeated. "You wouldn't even know. He was Thornn, a warrior of the ice mountain clan. A man respected highly in my village, and my _husband_ whom I had devoted my life to."

Wyatt suddenly found it all to fall into place. Seva. The child that the halfhand found in that village. Why Seva cared so much for her wellbeing. It now all made sense, and it made him all the more guilty.

"Mark my words crow, I won't kill you in our journey, "Seva said, "But once this is over, when you think you are safe standing guard on the wall. I will find you. And I will finish what my husband should have done in those woods that night.


End file.
